INsanity
by machi-tan
Summary: Mary could deal with the other patients but Mr Holmes was different. She could explain to the others that their hallucinations weren't real, that no giant robots or aliens were out to get them, but Mr Holmes had fathomed his own world in the Victoria Era


**kk so heres my new story I want to make it into another story but Im not sure if people would read it**

**but hers the story and after you read this tell me if you want a major story**

**I won nothing beta=microsoft word**

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Mary stared at the door in front of her; room 221, patient Holmes, Sherlock. She could deal with the other patients, but Mr. Holmes was different. She could convince and explain to the others that their hallucinations weren't real, that no giant robots or aliens were out to get them, she could prove that the tatter tots they served weren't actually tiny potato creatures who once you ate them controlled your body from the inside. All of them were easy, but Mr. Holmes has fathomed his own world in the Victorian Era. He had a superior logic which mad her feel like an imbecile as he punctured holes in all her reasoning. Yet his arguments seemed illogical and scattered so much that it was bent to look and seem true and most of the time it was.

She was sick of dealing with him and most days she wanted nothing more than to snap and yell at him that he was insane (it's happened. He would only smirk and say he's been told that before) or at least give him to another mental physiatrist, but she had become a part of his world, sucked into something bigger than she could control.

Taking a deep breath she plastered on a smile and opened the door. "Hello Mr. Holmes," she greeted.

"Ah if it isn't the governess Miss Mortsan," That's right she was a governess here. "I'm afraid you've just missed your fiancé." So 'John' wasn't here. Mary remained silent as she continued to smile and clutch her clipboard and notepad. "Please take a seat." He offered. The blonde nodded as she pulled her skirt down before sitting the opposite chair. "Now, tell me what brings you to Watson and my humble abode while your beau is out?" He folded his hands and fixed his cold calculating look on her.

"We need to talk." She simply stated.

Holmes gave a low growl in response. "What is it with you women and talking? I am perfectly content in silence."

Mary ignored this as she decided on what to say. "Mr. Holmes where do you think you are?"

He looked at her like she was an idiot, more so than usual. "221B Baker Street, dear God, you're sitting here yourself; you should know."

She scribbled this on her notepad before continuing. "And who is John Watson?"

She noticed his fist clinching as his face twists into one of anger and annoyance. Mary was used to this; he would always get worked up when she asked this question. "'Who is John Watson?' Honestly do you not know your own fiancé? You're not even fit to wear that ring; a ring that I in fact gave to the two of you!" He shouted anger flaring. "You waltz into Watson and my life, a life that we were both perfectly content with, and steal the only man I care about and you have the gall to ask 'who is John Watson'?" He was now standing one step away from flailing his arms and flinging random objects.

Mary knows she will never get answers if she doesn't fix this quickly. She needs to know what role this 'John Watson' character has in Mr. Holmes's life in order to help him see that John is not real; that none of Mr. Holmes's world is real. "I would like to know the depths of your relationship with him." She corrects herself. "I would like to understand how you two manage to be such close acquaintances for so long." She finished with an innocent smile.

Holmes blinks before straightening up and smiling back. "Very well Miss Mortsan, I will explain it to you once again." He takes a seat before picking opening the drawer by his chair and pulling out a stack of papers. "You've read Dr. Watson's stories about me." He explains handing over the group of papers to her. She gratefully accepted them with a nod. She skims over the first few lines on the front page; it's the _A Study in Scarlet_ as Holmes calls it. She knows it; she's read it countless times. She owns multiple photo copies of it along with the other stories the others much shorter than this one, except for _The Sign of Four_, the one Mary was placed in. She loves the stories, she even wants to publish them, yet she knows it's not her place and God knows what people would say and think if they knew it was written by a mental patient. She knew it would be wrong to publish something he wrote while dazed on his medication, but writing them is what has kept him so close to his world, what has made Doctor John Watson so real to him. What has made John Watson more than just his imaginary friend.

She flips through some of the pages reading them once more as he begins to speak. "As you know the Doctor and I share the flat where we currently reside. He has accompanied me on numerous cases, even recording a few of them as you hold in your hand. I will be honest with you I did not image, when I met the man; that our friendship would develop to what it is today. I believe our friendship could survive any challenge and one can't fathom the depths of it." Mary felt guilty, the greatest thing he's ever know would soon be ripped from him, proved that everything he had come to believe was fake. Maybe, Mary thought, that's why he's so resistant to see the truth, maybe he doesn't want to lose the greatest thing he has. Mary bit her lip that the thought; he could always find a real friend once he realized his world is fake.

Holmes continued to explain Watson's role to him, Mary remaining quiet and jotting down notes the entire time. When he finished there was a minute of awkward silence before Mary spoke up. "Mr. Holmes, I need to tell you something." The dark haired man seemed intrigued and slightly leaned closer to her. "I've come here for the past few months, almost a year now; I need you to understand it's not real." He gives her a deadly look, like he was about to strangle her. "You're in a mental hospital, you don't live in the Victorian Era, you live in the twenty first century, and..." She hesitated with the next part. "There is no one named John Watson; he doesn't exist-"

"Hold your tongue!" He shouted rising room his seat.

Mary momentarily paused but soon picked up where she left off. "I need you to understand this-"

"I will not listen to this madness.-"

"-The sooner you realize this the sooner we can help you-"

"-You're the insane one! Who's to say your world is not the faux one!-" They shouted over each other.

"-Please Mr. Holmes. Once you understand this we can get you out of here. You can go and find a real friend, someone better than John Watson." His eyes flared with anger that she had never seen. Before he stood in front of her and delivered a painful slap across her cheek.

She was momentarily stunned before his boney fingers wrapped around her neck, taking away the precious air her lungs were crying for. "There is no one better than Doctor John Watson. He is the one friend I need and you are nothing but a filthy whore!" He cried. It wasn't long before two large men burst in the room and tackled the mad man to the ground. He tried to fight back and kick off the two men, but it was fruitless.

Mary set her own hand on her neck as she took in the much needed air. A gentle hand rested on her shoulder as the black spots disappeared. Looking up she saw the eyes of her boss, Doctor James Moriarty. His aged eyes tried to comfort her as he gave a light squeeze. "Are you alight Miss Mortsan?"

Mary gave a simple nod as she looked over to see Irene Adler walk over to Sherlock with a syringe in hand. Mary faintly heard her whisper in the crazed man's ear. "Calm down Sherlock, everything's going to be alright. I'm here and I need your help with a little case." He seemed to slightly calm down before she injected the needle into his neck.

Sherlock's grey eyes met Mary's as they seemed to glass over and shut. The blonde woman shook her head and stood up, shrugging off Dr. Moriarty's hand. She didn't fail to notice the smirk on Irene's painted lips as she sent a look to her. Mary just walked out of the room and ignored the people behind her. Maybe no one would be able to help Mr. Holmes, maybe he was a lost cause, but one thing was for sure, she couldn't take much more of this. Walking out the door Mary felt her heart sink as she though of Mr. Holmes and 'Dr. Watson's' relationship; it would be a beautiful thing...if only it were real.

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**Yay heres the story I cant remember what gave me the idea it just came ot me while I was babysitting my cousins**


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